“I don’t know.... I’m not angry.... The whole horrible situation is breaking my nerve, I guess.... With whom were you talking before I came in?”
After a silence the girl’s smile glimmered.
“I’m afraid you won’t like it if I tell you.”
“Why not?”
“You—such things perplex and worry you.... I am afraid you won’t like me any the better if I tell you who it was I had been talking with.”
His intent gaze never left her. “I want you to tell me,” he repeated.
“I—I was talking with Sa-n’sa,” she faltered.
“With whom?”
“With Sa-n’sa.... We called her Sansa.”
“Who the dickens is Sansa?”